Ivan sat in his worn wooden chair, spoon in hand. The plate held one lump of green mush. He stared at it.
He poked. It wobbled left. He poked again, and it wobbled right.
Tap-tap-tap went the spoon handle on the tray. Ivan scowled. He thought: Not today.
He lifted a soft piece to his nose. Warm steam curled past. It smelled like wet earth and sunshine.
Ivan folded his arms. He set the piece back—clink. The green sat there, waiting.
He popped the piece in his mouth. Chomp. His eyes went wide as the spoon clanged onto the tile floor.
He grabbed another piece. Then another. A green stripe smeared across his chin.
The plate was bare—just a smear and two crumbs. Ivan leaned back, patting his tummy. The sky outside turned pink, and he grinned.
